Read Online Swimming by Nicola Keegan - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicola Keegan
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Coming of Age, Bildungsromans, Family Life, House & Home, Teenage girls, Irish Novel And Short Story, Swimmers, Outdoor & Recreational Areas
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joy-tinged disrespect of referring to our parents by their first names when they’re not around. Lilly slips a turquoise eyeliner under her bra in the Woolworth’s beauty aisle and whispers: Roger would definitely not be pleased with my outrageous behavior . Later, I contemplate a pair of $70 sneakers. I’ll have to ask old Mother Mary what she thinks about these . We Dolphins will become licensed lifeguards, will spend two weeks as trainees under a real lifeguard at one of the Glenwood outdoor pools. We draw straws; I get the uptight Glen-wood Country Club, Lilly gets the fun Beaver Park. My shoulders are a wide brown triangle.
I can almost save people now , I announce over dinner.
Bron looks at me, holding a wing of bronzed chicken between her fingers, and says: My guess is you’d freak .
That’s the first thing they teach us: Don’t freak .
Leonard is impressed. I’d like to sign us all up for that .
Roxanne kicks me under the table, mouthing MFPF, which means motherfucking prissy fuck .
Bron’s eating again and holding it down—not a lot, but she chews and swallows. The droning vibrations of cello sound up from the basement; the telephone rings with her voice singing I’ve got it . She lets her friends come back. They push me out of the bedroom with both hands, lock the door, speak in whispers with the music on high so I can’t hear a thing. When they come into the kitchen to get something to eat, they laugh hysterically at my flat ponytail, my pole chest, my pole legs, and I fear my secret’s been discovered. I cover my tracks by loudly asking Bron for a maxi pad. She says: What’s wrong with you? They’re in the bathroom under the sink . But I catch her studying me later with a question mark in both eyes and my heart starts to twitter.
Mom sleeps, wakes up in the morning, does things to her hair, buys new chalk for her lips, marinates vegetables in ceramic bowls. Dot has stopped the incessant praying; the bruises on her knees lift back into skin. Roxanne takes advantage of the relaxed atmosphere in the house, crouching under the willow tree in the garden with a one-hitter and a lump of hash.
Leonard’s flying regularly again but mostly with Dr. Bob and Ahmet Noorani. He talks Mom into going away for a weekend. June orders deep-dish pizza two nights in a row and we sit watching TV until we can’t stand it anymore. When Leonard and Mom return, they’re back to normal, holding hands in the car. Colleagues are invited over for annual BBQs. They drink German beer with sliced lemons, standing next to ribs Leonard has rubbed with a disgusting red paste. All things are exclamation worthy. Astronomer Gerald overindulges. His voice gets louder when he’s drunk, wobbling up the air into our open window. And that is why, dear friends, the moon keeps missing the earth. The simplicity is genius . Bron says: He’s wasted . I make no comment, eavesdropping until their voices tune together and warble like birds, singing in my ears until I fall asleep. In the morning, Leonard tries to coerce me out of practice. Come on, Boo … let’s go for a fly . I pay him back for all the trouble he’s caused with a steady boycott I deliver with a shrug and an apologetic smile that does not reach my eyes.
Usually we spend a couple of weeks soaking in black rubber tires on the green waters of Lake Shawnee, but this year they’ve planned a trip to France, the proud home of my mother’s ancestors’ ancestors. We’ve been taking French lessons with Sister Belly since we were five because there are Bouviers buried deep in the foliage of Mom’s family tree. A worn dictionary comes out at the dinner table. Corn is maïs . Hot dog is ‘ot dog . Rice is riz . Water is oh .
I’m okay. But sometimes I laugh so hard I feel weird and have to lie down.
Mom and Leonard clasp their hands together and make their eyes wide when they speak to us, as if somehow we’ve lost the capacity to understand the normal speech patterns, the
I can almost save people now , I announce over dinner.
Bron looks at me, holding a wing of bronzed chicken between her fingers, and says: My guess is you’d freak .
That’s the first thing they teach us: Don’t freak .
Leonard is impressed. I’d like to sign us all up for that .
Roxanne kicks me under the table, mouthing MFPF, which means motherfucking prissy fuck .
Bron’s eating again and holding it down—not a lot, but she chews and swallows. The droning vibrations of cello sound up from the basement; the telephone rings with her voice singing I’ve got it . She lets her friends come back. They push me out of the bedroom with both hands, lock the door, speak in whispers with the music on high so I can’t hear a thing. When they come into the kitchen to get something to eat, they laugh hysterically at my flat ponytail, my pole chest, my pole legs, and I fear my secret’s been discovered. I cover my tracks by loudly asking Bron for a maxi pad. She says: What’s wrong with you? They’re in the bathroom under the sink . But I catch her studying me later with a question mark in both eyes and my heart starts to twitter.
Mom sleeps, wakes up in the morning, does things to her hair, buys new chalk for her lips, marinates vegetables in ceramic bowls. Dot has stopped the incessant praying; the bruises on her knees lift back into skin. Roxanne takes advantage of the relaxed atmosphere in the house, crouching under the willow tree in the garden with a one-hitter and a lump of hash.
Leonard’s flying regularly again but mostly with Dr. Bob and Ahmet Noorani. He talks Mom into going away for a weekend. June orders deep-dish pizza two nights in a row and we sit watching TV until we can’t stand it anymore. When Leonard and Mom return, they’re back to normal, holding hands in the car. Colleagues are invited over for annual BBQs. They drink German beer with sliced lemons, standing next to ribs Leonard has rubbed with a disgusting red paste. All things are exclamation worthy. Astronomer Gerald overindulges. His voice gets louder when he’s drunk, wobbling up the air into our open window. And that is why, dear friends, the moon keeps missing the earth. The simplicity is genius . Bron says: He’s wasted . I make no comment, eavesdropping until their voices tune together and warble like birds, singing in my ears until I fall asleep. In the morning, Leonard tries to coerce me out of practice. Come on, Boo … let’s go for a fly . I pay him back for all the trouble he’s caused with a steady boycott I deliver with a shrug and an apologetic smile that does not reach my eyes.
Usually we spend a couple of weeks soaking in black rubber tires on the green waters of Lake Shawnee, but this year they’ve planned a trip to France, the proud home of my mother’s ancestors’ ancestors. We’ve been taking French lessons with Sister Belly since we were five because there are Bouviers buried deep in the foliage of Mom’s family tree. A worn dictionary comes out at the dinner table. Corn is maïs . Hot dog is ‘ot dog . Rice is riz . Water is oh .
I’m okay. But sometimes I laugh so hard I feel weird and have to lie down.
Mom and Leonard clasp their hands together and make their eyes wide when they speak to us, as if somehow we’ve lost the capacity to understand the normal speech patterns, the
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